The essential is never to arrive anywhere, never to be anywhere. The essential is to go on squirming forever at the edge of the line, as long as there are waters and banks and ravening in heaven a sporting God to plague his creature, per pro his chosen shits. I've swallowed three hooks and am still hungry. Hence the howls. What a joy to know where one is, and where one will stay, without being there. Nothing to do but strech out comfortably on the rack, in the blissful knowledge you are nobody for eternity.
My mistakes are my life.
How long have I been here, what a question, I've often wondered. And often I could answer, An hour, a month, a year, a century, depending on what I meant by here, and me, and being, and there I never went looking for extravagant meanings, there I never much varied, only the here would sometimes seem to vary.
Do we mean love, when we say love?
But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late!
The only sin is the sin of being born.
With all this darkness round me I feel less alone.
...you must say words, as long as there are any, until they find me, until they say me, strange pain, strange sin, you must go on, perhaps it's done already, perhaps they have said me already, perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be the silence, where I am, I don't know, I'll never know, in the silence you don't know, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on
Fail, fail again, fail better.
Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that… Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world. And we laugh, we laugh, with a will, in the beginning. But it's always the same thing. Yes, it's like the funny story we have heard too often, we still find it funny, but we don't laugh any more.
It is useless not to seek, not to want, for when you cease to seek you start to find, and when you cease to want, then life begins to ram her fish and chips down your gullet until you puke, and then the puke down your gullet until you puke the puke, and then the puked puke until you begin to like it.
All life long, the same questions, the same answers.
James Joyce was a synthesizer, trying to bring in as much as he could. I am an analyzer, trying to leave out as much as I can.
What do we do now, now that we are happy?
What are we doing here, that is the question.
All mankind is us, whether we like it or not.
People are bloody ignorant apes.
The old endless chain of love, tolerance, indifference, aversion and disgust
I am still alive then. That may come in useful.
If I was dead, I wouldn't know I was dead. That's the only thing I have against death. I want to enjoy my death.
That's the mistake I made, one of the mistakes, to have wanted a story for myself, whereas life alone is enough.
To restore silence is the role of objects.
There's never an end for the sea.
Dear incomprehension, it's thanks to you I'll be myself, in the end.
Reality, whether approached imaginatively or empirically, remains a surface, hermetic.
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